Solace
by Maeve Brady
Summary: Tag to "Self-Inflicted Wounds: Wait for the Wheel". Chiana finds an unlikely grieving companion.


**Solace**

**-  
**_Disclaimer: Characters not mine. Never have been, never will be.  
__Setting: Continuation of that last Chi/Jool scene at the end of WftW.  
__Plot: Chiana finds an unlikely grieving companion in the new tralk.  
__Author's Notes: Pseudo-Angsty Fluff. Inspired in a roundabout way by re-watching the episode and suddenly thinking "would Jool really have given up so easily?" …combined with the desire to give Chi a moment of mourning for Zhaan.  
-_

"Why… are you still following me?"

The redheaded tralk – Chiana hadn't caught her name – had a look of melodramatic sorrow on her face. Chiana, being rather distracted by her own problems, was certainly in no mood to deal with this one's as well, and fixed the woman with a stony glare. If she'd been in proper health, she would've outrun the bitch a long time ago, but with her leg as it was, she could scarcely stay on her feet at her current gut-wrenchingly slow pace. It frustrated her that, slow as the tralk was, and frequently as she tripped up, she never quite fell far enough behind for Chi to lose her. The girl was more trouble to get rid of than a tough stain.

"I've got nowhere else to go," the Interion whined, her voice high-pitched with too much juvenile sobbing. Chiana had never heard a sound so irritating.

"Not my problem," the Nebari replied curtly, and struggled to pick up her pace. Her wounded leg howled in protest against the effort forced onto it, and she suddenly found herself clinging to the wall as her only means of staying upright. _Frell_. She didn't mind her body's decision to rebel – hell, after what she'd put it through over the past couple of arns, she supposed it deserved it – but she wished it would've waited until she'd ditched the tralk. There was nothing more humiliating than showing weakness in front of an unwanted stalker.

The tralk was watching her with a combination of distress and amusement. "Do you, um, need some help?" she asked, somehow managing to sound timid _and_ smug.

"I'm _fine_." And, because her body clearly hated her, it chose that precise moment to prove her monumentally wrong by collapsing completely. "Frell." Again, she really wouldn't have minded the lapse quite so much if she didn't have a pretentious redheaded tag-along standing over her with a huge smirk on its face. She sighed. Of all the microts throughout the history of the universe, why did her body have to choose _this_ one?

"Are you _sure_?" the redhead asked. "I c—"

"I'm fine!" Chiana snapped, probably a little more harshly than she should have. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself into a standing position, ignoring the outraged screams of her injured leg. Swaying unsteadily, she turned to jab a finger at the bitch, who had replaced her bemused smirking with a look of almost genuine concern. Chiana couldn't figure out which of the two expressions was the more annoying. "I'm – _fine_."

Despite her protests, the Interion moved to offer a supporting arm. "That's quite an extensive vocabulary you have," she deadpanned, and Chiana fought the urge to lash out.

"Look!" Her voice was strained with exertion. "I don't – want – your _help_. I – want you – to leave me – _alone_." She extricated herself forcefully from the newcomer's imposed assistance, and stepped back with a venomous glare. "Do we – have – an understanding – or do I – have to – spellit out – for you?"

The other woman looked positively offended. "I _told_ you. I have nowhere to go." Again, that infuriatingly expressive face shifted expression again, this time wearing a façade of nervous anticipation. "I was hoping that maybe… until I get my own room… maybe you would let me… share yours?"

Chiana was thunderstruck. Any feints she'd been making at self-control dissolved in an instant, and she took the tralk by her bony shoulders and shook her as best she could on wobbly feet. "Do you have ­– _any idea_ – what we've just lost? Do you have ­– _any idea _– how we're feeling right now?" The redhead looked absolutely terrified, but Chiana had no intention of stopping her tirade. "Zhaan is _gone_," she went on, pausing only for as long as it took to bite back a sob. "She's _gone_… and all you can think about is where you're gonna sleep tonight?"

"I—" the tralk stammered. "I d—"

"Shut up!" Throwing the Interion from her with as much strength as she could muster, she staggered against the wall once again. "Shut up. Nobody… nobody cares. _I – don't – care_!" Tears spilled unchecked down her cheeks, and she didn't even try to stop them.

She didn't like to cry in front of people. Not if she could help it. Grief was something that had to be endured alone, or so she'd thought. She liked to be comforted, but didn't like to share her tears. Her tears were her own. But then, wracked with guilt over her own traitorous thoughts of abandoning Moya, she'd cried in front of someone. Zhaan. And, with a pain screaming deep inside her heart, she remembered the Delvian's gentle arms around her, comforting and compassionate… remembered feeling so scared, so guilty, so alone… remembered the shelter offered by those caring maternal arms, and then, amid the guilt and the fear and the loss and the chaos, feeling almost safe… knowing that she had found a home and a family… knowing that Zhaan would protect her and look after her and, where possible, shelter her from the horrors of Life… horrors that she'd seen too many of already…

The tears were falling in earnest now, a vibrant tidal-wave of grief and loss and sorrow, and nothing in the universe would make them stop. Even with the support of the wall, her body couldn't remain standing under the weight of such sadness, and she fell howling to her knees.

And then the redheaded tralk was there, holding her and whispering words that she couldn't hear. Gone now was the pretentious spoiled brat that Chiana had been yelling at, and suddenly, if she closed her eyes and ignored the whispering, she could almost believe it was Zhaan… …if Zhaan wore leather.

But it wasn't Zhaan. She could pretend all she wanted. She could stay here forever, clinging desperately to the annoying redhead, eyes shut tight over flowing tears, trying so hard to believe that it was, but it never would be. Never. Zhaan was gone. And she hated the redhead even more for it. Hated her for being here and offering her futile substitution for Zhaan's arms. Hated her for being so undeserving of life, and yet being alive while Zhaan was dead. Zhaan who was more deserving of anything in the galaxy than this tralk could dream of. How could she be dead? How could anyone claim there was justice in the universe when the universe had let her die?

It must've been over a half-arn that she stayed there, sobbing in the redhead's arms. And, to her credit, the tralk never left her side. Indeed, when Chiana finally summoned strength enough to raise her aching head and meet her gaze, she realised that the Interion had tears in her eyes as well.

"I…" Chiana swallowed. "I'm not usually like this." It was a weak attempt at casual indifference, but it was all she could think of. Certainly, she wasn't about to thank the other woman for her compassion… not yet. Not that the Interion seemed particularly bothered; her gaze was distant, eyes shining with tears as her hands continued almost unconsciously to trail through the Nebari's hair. She seemed to be fighting for words.

"I'm sorry your friend's dead," she said, at last.

Chiana flinched. She hated that word. It was so _final_. The last person she'd described with that word was Nerri, and he hadn't been. That frelling word had broken her heart for no reason, and she was so, so scared of it. So scared that the next time she said it, the person wouldn't come back. And this was different. They'd seen her d— seen her go. They'd heard her final speech. They knew. And that made it all the more impossible to use that word… because the second she said it… the second she acknowledged that Zhaan was d— …the second she used _that word _to describe Zhaan, there was no going back. No hope of a last-minute rescue. No reprieve. It was final. Death.

"Don't say that," she whispered.

The Interion frowned; it wasn't the frustrated _"why isn't the world bowing at my feet?" _frown that Chiana had come to expect. No, this was a concerned frown. A frown that was really worried she'd said something offensive. "Say what?" she asked nervously. "Say _what_? What have I done to piss you off this time?"

Chiana shook her head, fighting tears again. The redhead took the hint and folded her once again in a tight embrace, where Chiana promptly broke down for the second time, ragged sobs muffled by the other woman's more than ample cleavage. She'd thought she had cried all the tears she had… but she was wrong. And the Interion's protective hold wasn't helping. If possible, it was making things worse. The comfort, the softness, the empathy that flowed from every orifice of that caring embrace… every touch, every word, every breath reminded her again and again of Zhaan in her infinite compassion. Zhaan! She was everywhere... but she was nowhere.

When she finally regained control of herself, she struggled to her feet. The Interion remained kneeling on the floor, looking up at her with quiet concern. "I'm s—" Chiana began, but she cut herself off. "I'm going to my quarters. I, uh… I'll talk to Crichton about getting a room set up for you tomorrow. Okay?"

The redhead looked a little petulant at this dismissal, but the expression was still touched with the revenants of concern, and had lost its annoying edge. "What do I do until then?"

Chiana sighed. She really, _really_ didn't care. Her leg hurt, and her head hurt. Her eyes were raw, and she was exhausted. And, despite having spent the best part of an arn in tears, she wanted nothing more than to curl up on her bed and cry. "I dunno," she said dismissively. "Ask Rygel. Maybe he's got a blanket he can—"

She never got to finish the sentence. Before she'd even started, the Interion's expression had changed from petulant anxiety to darkening anger, and by the time she'd got to Rygel's name, the woman's hair was a furious crimson and her face a gathering storm-cloud. Finally, she burst in, uncontrollable, cutting off Chiana's poor attempt at passing her off in a single violent gesture, gripping the Nebari by the arms and meeting her gaze with daggers blazing in her eyes. "You're not the only one in mourning!" she blurted out.

"I know that," Chiana replied evenly, taking a limping step backwards and casually lifting the redhead's hands from her shoulders. "But I'm sure Rygel would be grateful for the distraction."

"I'm not talking about the animal!"

Chiana rolled her eyes. "Well, who the frell _are_ you talking about?"

"_Me_!" The word was an inhalation.

A strange emotion pulsed through Chiana's stomach. She couldn't figure out whether it was pity, anger, or utter disbelief. For a few microts, she was genuinely lost for words… in retrospect, she supposed it was a good thing, as she would inevitably have ended up taking the tralk's head off if she'd've tried to say anything. As it was, she took the vital few microts necessary to order her thoughts, before saying, in a voice as level as she could muster, and a look of complete disdain to go with it, "You?" Silence. "_You_ didn't even know Z—"

"Twenty-two cycles!" the redhead exploded. Her voice was wild and bitter, a far cry from the high-pitched whine that Chiana was finally getting used to. "My whole family could be dead. I'd never know. And, even if they're not, they probably think _I'm _dead. I'll never see them again." She paused, then continued in her usual melodramatic squeal. "I'm all alone in the middle of nowhere, with nobody to talk to but a bunch of degenerate aliens and an alley whore who won't even share a room with me for one frelling night because _she's_ _the only frelling person in the entire universe_ _who's ever lost a loved one_!" She broke off, clearly surprised at herself.

Chiana couldn't think of anything to say. Half of her wanted to punch the tralk as hard as she could, and the other half simply had to accept the truth in the Interion's tirade. And all the while she was trying to figure out exactly how to respond to this explosion, she could hear Zhaan's voice in the back of her mind preaching goodness and kindness unto others… and those loving arms around her, sheltering her, showing her what was right, encouraging her… and before she had the chance to burst into tears again, she heard her own voice, sulky:

"_One_. Night."

-

The Nebari's quarters were much tidier than Jool had expected. A handful of mementos scattered here and there, clothes tossed neatly into the corner, and the bed made and in one piece. Not bad. Maybe if she closed her eyes, she could just pretend that it was a hotel room. Yes. It hadn't been twenty-two cycles. She wasn't stuck in the middle of nowhere aboard a prison ship with a bunch of crazy outlaws. All that had been a dream. No, she was right here in a nice, warm, slightly cramped hotel room. With a whore.

"Make yourself comfortable," the girl said, gesturing at the floor, and Jool's delusion shattered.

"On the _floor_?" she demanded, totally agog.

The Nebari nodded, just a little impatiently. "I didn't want you here in the first place, Princess," she muttered, and Jool felt her heart constrict. Her parents had always called her that. _Our little Princess… she'll do great things when she grows up, just you wait and see_. She fought back a growing lump in her throat and continued to eye the Nebari, who was shrugging with a carelessness that made Jool flush with anger. "You'd rather have the corridor?"

Jool sighed. "No. The floor's fine. _Thank _you."

Another nod, and the Nebari began to strip. In front of her. Forgetting her manners, Jool let her mouth fall open. With an infuriating smirk, the girl paused and tilted her head to frown at her companion. "What _now_?" she snapped. "You never seen a nixa in the nude before? Well, get used to it. My quarters… my way." So saying, she promptly dismissed the stunned Interion and returned to her striptease.

"Whore." The word rushed out of her as if it had a mind of its own; she regretted it the instant it left her lips, but there was nothing in the universe that could – or indeed _would_ – make her take it back.

"Chiana," the slut corrected, irritable. "Chi. Ah. Na."

It took Jool a few microts to realise that the slut was offering her name. A small smile crossed her lips; it wasn't quite the hand of friendship – hezmana, the girl was probably just giving herself an excuse to get officially pissed off the next time Jool called her a whore – but it set the Interion's mind at ease. "Sorry," she said, injecting just the right amount of sincerity into the word, despite her lack of feeling such. "Joolushko Tunai Fenta Hovalis."

The Nebari blinked. "…huh?"

Jool sighed, and repeated herself, much to the girl's simultaneous annoyance and amusement, and by the time she figured out that, yes, that was the Interion's name, she was stark naked… and laughing. Jool felt a low growl forming in her throat, but she held it back. "There is nothing _funny_ about my name," she said bitterly.

"Sure," Chiana replied, shrugging off the issue and climbing into bed. Her face contorted with pain as she shifted her injured leg, and despite herself, Jool felt a twinge of concern. "Nothin' funny at all," the Nebari finished, and lay down at the far end of the bed. "Sweet dreams, Princess."

There followed a long, almost tangible silence. In the few arns that she'd been onboard the hellish Leviathan, Jool had learned to hate the silence. It brought with it promises of doom and despair. She shivered, still standing in the middle of the room. Blesma, how she hated the silence. It was such a solitary, lonely sound. Silence. She'd been enshrouded by silence for twenty-two cycles… surely that was more silence than anyone could endure without going insane? She sighed and sat down. The floor was cold. A high, keening whimper escaped her lips.

From the bed, Chiana groaned. "Shut. _Up_."

Jool scowled, though her insides sang in gratitude for the end to the silence. "It's cold."

The girl rolled over. "I don't frelling care."

"_I _do!" She didn't really expect the outcry to have any effect on the heartless Nebari, but she supposed it was worth a try… if only in banishing the silence for a few extra microts.

Chiana sighed and sat up, fixing the Interion with a steely gaze. "Then go somewhere else," she said, then went on, "I'm _tired_, okay?" Her eyes were wet again, and Jool felt a momentary twinge of guilt. "I am – so – frelling – _tired_. I don't care how cold the floor is. I don't care how lonely you are out here in the big bad universe. I don't care. I'm sorry, but I don't. So please, please, _please_ – shut up."

She didn't sound 'tired'; she sounded _exhausted_. Jool felt that pesky guilt surge within her again, and shifted closer to the bed. "I'm sorry," she said. It wasn't a word she had much experience with. In fact, she was usually the one that everyone else said it to. Always the wrong party. And, really, she supposed the whore should've been more sensitive to her case. She'd looked after _her_ during _her_ moment of grief, hadn't she? But still, the numb exhaustion in the girl's voice struck a chord with Jool's well-hidden sympathetic side, and the Interion found the hint of pity to be a soothing balm over her own grief. "I didn't mean to keep you awake. I just… don't like the cold."

Chiana muttered something that Jool's translator microbes didn't pick up, and pulled back the sheet. "Get in. Don't hog the covers. Don't move around too much. _Don't whine_."

Jool was more than a little uncomfortable with this arrangement, a worry that she deemed perfectly sensible considering the unclothed nature of her soon-to-be sleeping partner, and she didn't hesitate in pointing this out. "But you're… um…" She coughed delicately. It was just too ridiculous to say. "Can't _you_ take the floor?"

"No, I _can't_. It's _my _bed." Again, that depthless fatigue bleeding through the irritation, and Jool's conscience reminded her that it was just one night, telling her to stop being such a baby. The tralk was still talking at her. "Take it or leave it, Princess, but one more word and you're outta here."

Jool sighed dramatically; the humiliations she had to put up with! Pausing for as long as it took to remove her boots and collar, she climbed hesitantly into the Nebari's bed. Rolling her eyes, Chiana pulled the covers over them, and turned over to face the wall. "Anything else, Your Highness? Warm drink? Bedtime story?" Had the tone of her voice not been so deadly serious, Jool would have laughed. As it was, she merely shook her head.

"No. Thank you."

The girl grunted her acknowledgement, and fell silent. Jool lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling and willing sleep to come. All things considered, she should've been tired. Really, she should've been even more exhausted than the Nebari, but she wasn't. In fact, she was rather restless. Everything was so strange here, so different. None of the Leviathan's crew seemed to like her, and none seemed willing to get to know her. Ignorant species, all. She'd expected such disrespect from the Sebacean, but had always assumed that the Nebari were a sensible sort of race… and as for the Hynerian, well he was a shame to his species! It was a shame the Delvian had passed away; Jool was certain _she_ would have given the Interion a chance to prove herself before making such prejudicial judgements.

And, of course, where could she go from here? Not home, certainly. Her family hadn't seen her in twenty-two cycles; if _they_ were still alive, they'd assume _she_ was dead. And how could she possibly go home without her cousins? The image of their sick, broken faces swam before her field of vision, and she choked back a sob. Beside her, Chiana stirred, but didn't say anything; Jool was fairly sure she was still awake, and felt uncharacteristically grateful that the Nebari hadn't commented on the noise. Not that it would have made any difference if she had, of course… but she nonetheless appreciated the feint at tolerance.

It was just… all so overwhelming. She appreciated, understood, empathised with the girl's grief over her friend's death… but when all was said and done, Chiana hadn't lost nearly half as much as she herself had. A little sympathy, was it so much to ask for? Just a moment, a kind word, even a murmured _"I'm sure you'll fit in soon…"_, anything. Any hint of compassion. Anything at all. It wasn't so much to ask for, was it? Not after she herself had been so caring during the Nebari's brief descent into madness. Was a little reciprocation so much to ask for? The mere thought was enough for her to start whimpering again, and fear of being kicked out of the bed forced her to muffle the sounds, even as she felt Chiana stirring beside her. She closed her eyes, allowing a tear to fall from beneath the lids, and waited for this latest reprimand, not realising until several microts later that it wasn't coming. Surprised, she opened her eyes.

"I'm not…" Chiana had rolled over and was now facing her, expression uncharacteristically tender. "I'm not good at… at bein' there for other people. Y'know?" She paused, inhaling shakily. "I don't… I don't know how to make other people feel better. Okay? It's just… it's not something I can do."

Jool nodded wordlessly. As much as she wanted to, she couldn't bring herself to tell the Nebari just how much that revelation meant to her. It would just sound so… silly. How could the lack of comfort be comforting in itself? How was that possible? She was just being irrational. Restless from lack of sleep and too much loss, and acting irrationally as a result. It was a common enough reaction to extreme trauma – and, sure as hezmana, _this_ was extreme trauma. Instead of responding to the girl's lack of compassionate words, then, she instead switched tacks.

"Thanks for letting me stay."

"No problem," Chiana replied. "I, uh, I remember what it's like, being the new kid… bein' the one nobody likes. It's, uh, it's lo—" She caught herself and broke off. "Forget it. Shut up and go to sleep."

"Lonely," Jool finished for her.

Chiana nodded. "Yeah. Lonely. Knowing you're all alone out here… knowing that there's no-one else if these fekkiks don't like you… or that, when they're gone, you're all alone. Knowing that—" Again, she cut herself short, just as her voice was about to crack. "_Just go to sleep_."

Jool smiled. It wasn't a big smile, nor was it a strong one… but it was a genuine one, and that was much more than she'd hoped for. "Sleep well, Chiana."

-  
**Fin  
****-**

_Endnote: For those who are interested:  
__Yes, the sequel to "Void" is still in progress… I just keep getting distracted by other ideas…_


End file.
